She grins. “That’s part of the fun, I guess.”
“Are you going to take another meeting with the agency?”
“Maybe.” She turns back to her laptop. “I might try to pick up a client outside the sports world. Maybe a model or an actor. Just to see.”
“You always appreciate a challenge.”
“We’ve got that in common.” She turns her eyes to the interior door. “Gabriel is right over there? Why don’t you introduce me? I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to scope him out solo before he’s surrounded by his team again.”
“Are you asking professionally, or as my friend who wants to assess the guy I slept with last night?”
“Oh Spencer, I work in PR. You know the gossip is always a little bit of the fun.”
I sigh. Might as well get this over with.
Although I realize I’m much less resistant to seeing Gabriel than usual. Probably a hormonal thing.
“He’s next door,” I say. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
* * *
GABRIEL
I’m not sure how long he’s been pounding at my door. I’ve got my headphones on, and I’m lost in “Last Man Alive,” working the song over and over. Ever since Spencer’s reaction this morning, it’s felt different. Raw and exposed. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make the arrangement hum with the defiant, apocalyptic energy that made it famous in the first place.
Should ignore him and keep working on my music, but I don’t want to be rude after hooking up.
When I answer, Spencer stands there is dress pants and a white t-shirt.
“Couldn’t bear to stay away from me?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Alyssa is here. You know—”
“I remember,” I say, sticking my head in. “Hi.”
Spencer gives me a funny look, but steps aside. “She’s got the plan our teams worked out. I thought you might want to see.”
I push a hand through my hair as I walk in. “Yeah. Fox messaged me.” I look to Alyssa, and I’m no fashion expert, but I can tell she’s wearing an impeccable designer look. “The plan looks amazing,” I tell her. “And that’s a great necklace. Nice to meet you.”
“Yes,” she says as she offers me a professional handshake. “Pleasure to work with you.”
I look at their mugs. “Coffee?” I ask.
It’s clear how Alyssa and Spencer get along so well. She’s professional and focused, and she wastes no time walking me through her basic idea for our fake marriage, a pretty standard dating scheme to convince the world we’re just your everyday, regular couple, and that Vegas mishap was nothing more than a funny start to our love.
We’ll play the part of an old-fashioned married couple for one year, and the stability will allow us each to focus on our careers while we right the ship of our public images.
It all looks good to me, and Spencer seems agreeable, although he’s gone back to avoiding my eyes at the moment, even though he’s right across the table from me.
“You’re a PR whiz,” I say to Alyssa. “What do you think the chances are this works?”
She looks up to the ceiling, considering. “More than fifty-fifty,” she says. With a quirk to her smile, she looks back to me. “Although really it’s up to you two, I guess.”
“I can’t really afford for it not to work,” I tell her honestly. “My favorability ratings are tanking.”
“You’ve got an onslaught,” she agrees. “People are ready to believe you took advantage of Spencer because it fits their easy narratives and confirms their biases. But they’re wrong, and you’ll prove them wrong when the weeks go by and you don’t split and break his heart. The public will see two happy, married adults, minding their own business, and after an amicable breakup, you can both move on with your lives.”
I look to Spencer. “See? Easy? All I have to do is act respectable for a year, and I can avoid being painted as the man who broke Spencer Wilchins’s heart.”
